The General
By Gumnut
7 – 12 Oct 2004
The wind tousled his hair and he closed his eyes revelling in its soft caress as it swept across his face. The night was falling, the fading glimmer of sunlight sparking the odd ray above the horizon in a last desperate effort to hold on to the day. It winked at him as if confiding in him, secretly informing him that this horrific day was finally over.
Thank god.
The bottle in his hand was colder than the breeze, which, considering the day had been so warm, was no surprise and the condensation on its surface made it slippery in his hand. The glass contained no alcohol, much to his chagrin, but the doctor would have his guts for garters if he so much as glanced at an alcoholic beverage.
The bottle kept him company nevertheless.
He was alone, and it was the way he preferred it. Perched on a rock high on top of Cheyenne Mountain, watching the sunset and listening to the retiring wildlife preparing for those who would awaken at the fall of dark.
It was lonely at the top.
But he had known that long before he had taken this job and he should be used to it by now.
The soft drink fizzled on his tongue.
His butt was getting sore.
He'd done it again today. Twentieth time. A nice round number. He'd done it. Watched them walk through that marvel of alien technology and disappear from his sight, out of reach, out of range.
Out of his control.
It wasn't really a control issue. It was a care issue. An issue of responsibility. A need built into his soul that required that he keep those he loved safe.
Loved. Hah! Face it, O'Neill, you're maudlin.
Further down the mountain side, a bird let out a frantic squawk and suddenly took flight. O'Neill jumped, his whole body flinching, eyes tracking, fingers itching towards a weapon he didn't have. The bush the bird had vacated rustled and a black cat leapt out of its branches. Both descriptive of his day and ominous in prediction, the symbol of evil, no more than another of Earth's creatures fighting to survive, crept over rocks and weeds scrambling off in what was surely just the beginning of the night's hunt.
He tried to relax, he really did, but something in his makeup refused him the courtesy of rest. The muscles in his shoulders twanged like piano strings and his jaw grated. The breeze continued to brush his face, but he was forced to ignore its temptations, his body unwilling to forgive him for the day.
They had left him behind, walked through the gate.
Into hell.
They had been overdue.
They had managed to communicate in one single scrambled radio link. Harsh words, yells, the all too familiar scream of weapon's fire.
He had tried to send backup. God, he had tried.
But they had lost the connection and had been unable to re-establish. Their voices, their pleas, echoed in his head, and behind his steel façade he had screamed their names.
But the gate had remained silent.
Connection failed.
Connection refused.
Dial 911 and get an engaged signal.
They had tried for hours. Contacts, favours, he had pulled every string he could reach. No-one had been able to help. And, god, he wished the Asgard would buy an answering machine for when they weren't home.
He had tried.
And he had failed.
The eyes on him in the control room had almost pierced him to the core. The worst of it was that they all knew. They knew the importance of SG-1, they knew he was hurting, they knew what they meant to him. And while the almost fanatic loyalty towards him gleamed in their eyes, part of him cringed at their stares, balking at the thought of his emotional exposure.
A small part of him.
The rest of him was too busy attempting to pull a solution from thin air.
He had tried everything.
Both Siler and Davies had had at least one moment of complete stunned stupidity. Their eyeballs nearly popping out of their sockets as he threw his own brand of space-time physics back and forth across the control room. Speculations on why the gate wasn't working, what would be required to reach the planet from the nearest stargate, proximity of allies able to assist. His team wasn't here to assist him, so he had to rely on himself.
Of course that statement wasn't really fair to the rest of the SGC, but while he was willing to trust just about everyone on base with their jobs, there was still something that only time and familiarity in crisis could instil in him. His former team was offworld, they were trapped, and he wasn't there to help them.
They had, of course, made it back.
And his hair hadn't turned grey for no reason.
Some said it was Daniel's fault, but in reality he figured it was SG-1 in general.
General.
He was the General now.
The one who got left behind.
His hair would be white by the end of the year.
They came barrelling through the wormhole. One exhausted looking Lieutenant Colonel, one slightly dented archaeologist, and one major pissed Jaffa.
Man, he hadn't seen T so off the deep end in a very long time.
Apparently the local Jaffa hadn't liked him very much. The feeling had turned out to be mutual. Daniel had paid the price, leverage in a little game of revenge. It had been left to Carter to save the day.
The survivors of that particular little group would never underestimate a female Air Force officer again. Those of them who could still walk.
They were bedraggled, they were tired and somewhat injured, but they were home, and he could breathe a sigh of relief.
Couldn't he?
SGC teams went through that gate several times a day. Men, women, doing their bit for the defence of their planet, each equally exposed to the dangers inherent to the job. And he said goodbye to every single one of them.
Why should his team be any different?
Because they were his team.
And they always would be.
"Jack?"
He jumped, much to his chagrin. Damnit, O'Neill, you may be on Terra Firma, but that is no reason to get slack.
"Daniel, shouldn't you be in bed?" His voice was sharp and gruff. He didn't like being taken unawares, regardless if it was his fault.
"You okay?"
Trust Daniel to ignore a subtle warning to go away.
"I'm fine." Try curt and abrupt.
"You've been up here for hours."
Nope didn't work. Soft footsteps approached behind him. Damnit.
"For crying out loud, Daniel, can't I have a moment's peace?" He spun as he blurted it out, and as his eyes fell on his friend, he wished he could swallow the words. "Daniel?" The archaeologist was several shades whiter that the sheets he should have been under. "What the hell are you doing up here?" He indicated the rock next to him. "For god's sake, sit down before you fall down."
For once in his life, Daniel complied without comment.
That simply caused Jack to worry just that little bit more.
"The doctor is going to have your head on a platter, you know that, don't you."
"Well, she can keep it with yours. You're not supposed to be up here anymore than I am."
Jack attempted a half hearted glare with little success. Daniel simply arched an eyebrow at him.
"Taking lessons from Teal'c?"
The archaeologist smirked. "No." He darted a meaningful glance up at him. "From you."
"Hmph." Jack turned back to staring at the horizon, now fading fast, starlight gaining dominance. "Why you up here, Daniel?"
"I could ask you the same question."
"But you haven't, and I got in first."
At the lack of an answer he glanced at the younger man, and was surprised to find him almost squirming where he sat. "You okay?"
A pair of blue eyes darted at him, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm fine."
"Daniel, I've seen fine, and this ain't it."
The archaeologist frowned, his mouth tightening as if he wanted to say something yet wasn't sure he should.
"Spit it out."
"Huh?"
"You obviously have something on your mind. Spit it out."
"Jack."
"Daniel."
He looked away.
Jack waited.
Waited.
Daniel snuck a glance in his direction, and O'Neill simply cocked his head quizzically. A pair of shoulders slumped in defeat.
"It's stupid."
"In whose judgement?"
"Mine."
"How about a second opinion."
Sigh.
"C'mon, Daniel, this is like getting blood out of a stone."
"I know how that feels."
"Stop trying to change the subject."
"Okay, okay, okay." He raised his hands in supplication. "I came up here because I wanted to spend some time with you. Satisfied?"
Jack blinked. "Spend time with me?"
"Yeah, well, since we don't see you as often as we used to, I've found I'm beginning to miss your company." Daniel's eyes were everywhere but on him.
O'Neill frowned. "You miss me?"
Those roaming eyes suddenly snapped to his own. "Of course we do! Do you have any idea what it is like to walk through that gate and leave a member of the team behind?"
"Uh-"
"Jack, we're a team, we have been one for the past seven years. We've been through life and death together. That isn't something that I, Carter, or Teal'c are going to forget anytime soon. And besides," his eyes drifted to his feet, "it's just not the same without you."
"Daniel, I-"
"Don't say it, Jack. You deserved this promotion more than anyone on this planet. It's just...hard."
O'Neill didn't have any answer to that.
The hillside became quiet, both men just sitting in each other's company, listening to the awakening of the nocturnal world around them.
"So who toasts the marshmallows?"
The slowly spreading smile on Daniel's face reassured Jack that his question had served its purpose. "Teal'c."
"Teal'c? You let Teal'c have control of the marshmallows?!"
Daniel chuckled. "Yeah. Apparently he has been vying for the position for years."
O'Neill slapped a dramatic hand to his forehead. "D'oh! How many has he cremated so far?"
"Eh, he's getting the hang of it. Sam says they're even nearing edible now." A sly glance was directed at the General. "I get coffee duty."
"You?!"
Daniel grinned.
"That's it, I'm putting in for a demotion before SG-1 turns into a sleep deprived mess."
"Actually we get more sleep now." At the inevitable querulous look, he continued. "You snore, Jack."
"I do not."
"Do, too."
"Not."
"Do."
"Not."
"Jack, I've shared camp with you many times over those seven years. Trust me, you snore."
O'Neill crossed his arms in denial. "Never bothered you before."
The smile on Daniel's face had more than humour in it.
"Well, no more rocky ground for me. From now on I enjoy the comfort of Air Force issue feather pillows."
"Uh, last I heard, the Air Force doesn't issue feather pillows."
"It doesn't?" He attempted to hold a straight face with little success.
Daniel simply laughed.
------------------
It was good to listen to him. Daniel didn't want to admit it, but it was Jack's humour he missed the most. Those sarcastic comments, exaggerated glares in the direction of the almost always inevitable trees. He now found himself landing feet first on the other side of the wormhole and experiencing a sudden silence, as if all three members of SG-1 were waiting on the standard 'new planet commentary' that no longer came. Eventually one of them would break it, perhaps a comment on the weather, an order, all avoiding reference to the missing monologue.
It wasn't really sad, just not quite right.
It felt odd, like they were missing a limb or something.
Jack had always been the driving strength of the team, the one they could always depend upon for encouragement, for direction, and for the determination that had seen them through so many situations that had threatened to be their last.
Sam was great at her job. She had her own drive, her own determination, and was quite literally a tornado in a teacup when she needed to be, but the team had functioned differently with Jack. He supposed they just had to get used to the differences.
"Penny for your thoughts."
Daniel jumped. He hadn't realised he had been so quiet for so long. Jack was not one for extended silences.
"I doubt they are worth that much."
"Put it down to inflation. C'mon, give."
Daniel sighed. This just wasn't going to come out right, no matter how he said it. "I don't have anyone to argue with anymore."
The look on the General's face was almost comical. "Argue with?"
Oh, god, he was never going to live this one down. "I hate to say it, Jack, but the 'discussions' we had served their purpose, and now, well, I...miss them."
"You miss our fights?"
Nope, definitely never going to live it down. He glared at O'Neill.
"What? What'd I do?" Patented O'Neill innocent look.
Daniel just rolled his eyes. "Jack, can't you just for a minute take things a little bit more seriously?"
O'Neill straightened his face, but Daniel could still see that mischievous child lurking behind his eyes. Another thing he didn't want to admit to missing - the oddly child-like response to the world Jack managed to harbour and spark comment on upon each new discovery. He looked at the world somewhat differently to the other members of the team. A point of view that had its own value. His non-scientific assessment often igniting ideas in the two scientists. It was a function that Teal'c now attempted to fulfil, but while his point of view was basically as uninformed of specifics as O'Neill's had always been, again it was different. Often it only lead to emphasis of the piece of the team missing.
Jack had started to squirm under Daniel's stare, his eyes darting about, almost in guilt as if he had done something. Daniel smiled slightly and it only increased the older man's edginess.
"What?" His dark eyes darted back and forth obviously aware that Daniel was thinking about him, but not sure exactly how to take it. "Daniel, hasn't someone told you that it is rude to stare?"
"You haven't changed have you." It wasn't a question, more a statement of the obvious.
"Did you expect me to?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe, perhaps a little."
"I'm still me, Daniel."
The archaeologist made a point of staring his friend up and down. "Yep, definitely still you, Jack. Can't leave you unattended for a day without you acquiring a new set of scars. Even if we leave you safe at home."
Jack glared at him. "I thought that was your position in life. Last I heard your reputation consisted of being the inept archaeologist who couldn't keep himself out of trouble."
"Well, I'm not the one who managed to almost get himself drawn and quartered."
"Hey, SG-7 had vouched for those representatives. How was I supposed to know they practised honourable disembowelling?"
It was said with humorous chagrin, but Daniel did not miss the seriousness of what had occurred. SG-7 had brought back two representatives from PCG-675 to negotiate a treaty to mine a vein of neutronium recently discovered near one of their major cities. They were human, well dressed, though a little on the gaudy side. Jack in his usual casual style had greeted them in the gateroom.
Unfortunately Jack's 'hello, welcome to Earth' speech had been interrupted by a yell from the second of the two men, who then proceeded attempt to gut the General with a knife that appeared out of nowhere.
Jack had been surprised, but his reflexes were intact, and he moved. Almost as fast as the attacker.
Almost.
He'd backed off, but hadn't avoided a shallow gash that ran the length of the arm he had raised to defend himself.
The apparent assassin hadn't been given a second chance, five uniformed men piling on top of him.
On the tape, Daniel had seen Jack stagger as another five jumped between him and the threat. The look on the new General's face had been one of astonishment more than pain, and Daniel was pretty sure the surprise had more to do with the gate team's reaction than any injury he had received.
Jack was obviously still not used to being 'the man'.
"Hey, I'm just glad you're okay."
"Hmph. I could say the same about you. You still look like crap."
"You are so good for my ego, Jack."
O'Neill smiled, somewhat reluctantly. "It's my lot in life, to keep the great Daniel Jackson humble."
------------------
The silence that followed that statement made it extremely obvious that both men were remembering a time where Jack O'Neill had declared that it was his lot in life to do something far more important - to keep Daniel alive.
Jack glared at his feet. That was no longer his direct responsibility. He now had to rely on others to keep his best friend safe. Despite his trust in his team-mates, again it was the fact that he wasn't there that haunted him. 'What if' scenarios teased him and kept him awake at night.
But it was something he had to face. This was his position now. This is what he did.
"Do you regret taking the promotion?" Daniel's eyes had that earnest look in them again. That innocent determination to seek the truth that usually bugged the hell out of Jack O'Neill.
"No. I'm in the position I should be." He didn't look Daniel in the eye.
"But is it the best for you?"
"Daniel, the decision was made and there is no going back, despite what I like or don't like."
"Do you regret it?"
Jack looked at the pale face of his friend, a man who had spent a good part of the day strung up between two poles, being poked by various sharp instruments, and developing a career as a punching bag for the local batch of Jaffa. Jack hadn't been there to help him. Jack hadn't been able to save him. But he had survived anyway.
Somewhere in the distance an animal gave a yelp, its identity dulled by distance due to its preference for the nocturnal. Daniel's eyes darted in the dark, sketching out its position, the starlight reflecting off his corneas.
"Daniel, I would be lying if I said that there weren't times I wanted to be with the team."
"So you do regret it?" Daniel frowned at him.
"I didn't say that either."
Silence. The rustling of leaves in the cooling breeze.
"Doctor Jackson?" The voice came out of the dark, but it was easily recognisable. Playtime was over. There was one thing good thing about this new doctor – she didn't know them well enough to threaten them with needles yet. He was sure it wouldn't take her long.
"Doctor Jackson!"
Daniel sighed. "Perhaps if you are quiet she won't notice you."
"General?"
So much for that fantasy.
O'Neill made to stand up, unwilling to put up the inevitable fight, and, despite his inability to admit it, tired. Besides, Daniel should be in bed.
A hand stopped him.
"Jack, I want you to know something." O"Neill paused, looking down at his friend. "I do regret you taking the promotion. I know it is the best for the SGC, best for you, and, hell, best for the universe as we know it. But part of me, the selfish part, wishes things could be the way they were. We were a team, Jack, and we were the best. It will never be the same again."
And with that Daniel stood up, glanced at him once more, and headed off in the direction of the medical mafia.
Jack didn't know what to say.
Responsibility screamed at him from one corner, but, given the opportunity, another part of him jumped up and down demanding attention.
He ignored it.
He had his duty.
Daniel's admission touched him. He felt needed, he felt like he belonged. SG-1 was his family.
And he had left them.
He had his duty.
The night seemed lonelier than it had a moment ago.
"General?"
He jumped...for the third time that night. This was getting ridiculous. "Doctor, hasn't anyone told you that it is rude to sneak up on someone in the dark?"
"I'm sorry, sir."
Damn, no snappy comeback. He still missed Janet's smart ass remarks. There was a woman who knew how to kick his medicated butt.
"Doctor, if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a while."
"But, sir-"
He held up a hand and looked away.
"Yes, sir."
She disappeared into the night.
The mountain was once again silent except for the movements of mother nature. The stars twinkled light at him, each one flashing its universal morse code of solitude and singularity.
Damn.
It was lonely at the top.
-----------------
FIN.